L'erreur française
by 4amomentiamking
Summary: In the middle of an argument, Olivia and Fitz suddenly find themselves in a reality that, while eerily similar to their own, is different in many ways.


_**Chapter One**_

 _ **We Aren't In Washington Anymore**_

 _Washington DC, 2012:_

Olivia groaned, her vocal cords burning from the low, guttural noise. Tilting her head back, her hair covering the top half of her office chair, she gazed at the white of the ceiling. She was supposed to be working. There was a case that needed her attention, but she damnit she couldn't focus. Not with the rage that was slowly building in the pit of her stomach, rearing its ugly head until it was the only thing she could see.

The flickering light in the corner drew her attention. She needed to get that fixed - it was driving her crazy. Though she wondered just how much more crazy she could get. She had _believed_ him. _Believed_ his lies. And in the process? In the process, she had nearly destroyed an innocent girl. Cracking her knuckles, she reached for the glass of red that she had on her desk, downing what little was left. Reaching forward, she grabbed the dark, glass bottle by its neck, placing her lips against the opening and tilting the bottle upward. There wasn't much left.

Guilt, not just rage, ate at her insides. A ball of dark, knotted despair filled her stomach. Not for the first time that day, she felt on the verge of vomiting. That girl was in the hospital because of her. Had tried to take her own life because of something Olivia had said. All of that because she had been too blinded, too stupid to see what had really happened. Because she had truly thought he wouldn't have moved on.

Gritting her teeth, she stood from her desk and searched for her coat. Placing her cell in the cream pocket of her blazer, she stumbled toward the elevator. She wasn't drunk. Not _that_ drunk anyway. No. Olivia Pope didn't get drunk. Not when she was supposed to be working. Bracing herself against the wall as her heels slid on the marble floor, she used the solid base to support herself.

In the elevator, she jabbed her finger against the button for the ground level. She was done throwing herself a pity party. Her firm needed her. Her team needed her. _Amanda_ needed her. She flew out of the building when the elevator reached the bottom floor. Her driver scratched his head when she yanked the back door of the car open before he had a chance, sliding into the vehicle.

"Well?" she called through the tinted glass. He hustled to the driver's seat. Olivia was in a mood. She was quiet along the way. Nothing unusual there. Olivia didn't allow many a glimpse in her head. For some reason, the gently falling rain served only to darken her mood.

She rolled her window down, frowning as a drop of water hit her hand, and glared at the guard in the booth. He edged backward in what little space that he had before waving the car forward, toward the large, white building. Inside the White House, Olivia marched with determination toward his office. She wanted answers.

"Ms. Pope, do you have an appointment with the President?" She exhaled sharply, turning her glare on the lady at the desk. She _didn't_ have an appointment, but she would be damned if that stopped her from speaking to him.

"No. Tell him I'm here and he'll let me in." She didn't recognise the secretary. Maybe she was new. Either way, she didn't know about Olivia's open-door policy. She was allowed access to the president any time of the day.

"President Grant said to come in," the woman announced, a frown on her face, when she reappeared moments later. Olivia smirked, stomping into the office and slamming the door behind her. She took a deep, shaky breath as she tried to still her reaction at the sight in front of her.

Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III was every woman's dream. He was tall. At 6'2, he towered above Olivia. Her personality had a way of bringing her up to his size, though, as he had once remarked to her. The soft curls of his brown hair were messy in all the right ways. His blue eyes twinkled when he glanced at her from behind the large, Resolute desk of the Oval. His grin slowly faded as he took in the look on her face.

"Liv?" She closed her eyes against the sensations flooding her body at his deep voice. She couldn't let him get to her. Not now.

"You lied to me." She spat the accusation, slowly opening her eyes to look at him, pouring her hurt and anger into them.

"About?" She snorted - he honestly expected her to believe that innocent, 'do no wrong' look?

"You and Amanda." His smile faltered. She crossed her arms, trying to provide a barrier between the two when he stood from behind his desk and crossed the room in a few long strides.

"What did she say, Liv?"

"You called her sweet baby." She hated the way her voice quivered and the way she leaned into his touch when he placed his hands on her arms.

"She's lying."

"Fitz…" He covered her mouth with his own before she could say anymore and God help her, she _kissed_ him. Something about the moment, as wrong as it was, felt right. Coming to her senses, she yanked her head away:

"I have to fight you on this, Fitz. She's my client now."

"Your client?" His eyes flashed and he took a step back. It didn't take much to recognise the anger in his eyes that mirrored her own.

"That poor girl is in a hospital bed because of something I said. Something I said because I was so damn sure that _she_ was lying."

"You're taking her side?" He stepped away, running his hand through his hair.

"Of course I'm taking her side! You're asking me to ruin that poor girl." Olivia snarled.

"And now you're going to -" A large flash interrupted his next words. The two shielded their eyes, groaning at the pain reverberating in their heads at the brightness that had filled the room. Waiting a minute, they slowly opened their eyes and looked around.

"What just happened?" Olivia wondered.

"I don't know," Fitz responded, glancing out the windows. Everything looked okay. It was still raining outside - there weren't any craters where he could see. That pretty much ruled out any bombing.

"CUT!" Olivia and Fitz glanced at each other, frowning.

"What?" They wondered aloud as a man, a few inches shorter than Fitz, stepped into the office. Olivia tilted her head, observing the fact that he had entered where there should have been a wall.

"Tony, Kerry, what happened? You two look like you saw a ghost."

"Excuse me?" Olivia wondered, narrowing her eyes at the man standing before her.

"Are you okay? Need a break?" The man offered.

"Who are you?" Fitz intervened.

"Ha ha ha. Real funny, Tony."

"What did you call me? Why are you in my office?"

"Did you hit your head?" The man shook his head, turning and yelling behind him, "Let's wrap up for the day! And someone check Tony out!"

"What is this?" Olivia asked the woman who had arrived to lead her to her trailer. Although she had no clue why she needed a trailer.

"Our set." Scrunching her face, Olivia glanced around then building they were in. They passed several wooden sets - sets that looked like her office and her apartment. She frowned at the sight of two men moving things around in her living room.

"What are they doing?" she asked, gesturing toward the men.

"Getting the set ready for tomorrow…" The woman tilted her head, her face slackening and her eyes darting over Olivia. "You and Tony have that big scene."

"What big scene?" Olivia probed, continuing to follow the woman toward the back of the building. The woman swung a heavy, metal door open and held it while Olivia stepped into the bright sunlight. She scrunched her eyes, nearly closing one, as her sight adjusted to the bright light. Heat was pouring from the blacktop, causing Olivia to break into a sweat under her blazer. She frowned. It had been raining moments earlier and it certainly wasn't this hot. It was the middle of fall in DC for crying out loud.

"The makeup scene. Not that it's the first and it probably won't be the last," the woman mumbled. Biting her lip, the pain didn't make her feel any better - after all, didn't they say that you couldn't feel pain dreams? - Olivia followed with heavy feet. She ran her hand over the name that covered the tan door of the large, RV. When the woman she was following had said that they were going to her trailer, she hadn't anticipated an expensive, glossy RV.

 _Kerry Washington,_ her eyes scanned the embellished name tag. Whoever that was, was who they all seemed to think she was. Squaring her shoulders, she decided to do what she did best. She was going to dig until she discovered everything she could on this person, on her situation.

Swinging the door open, she climbed the steps leading into the opulent, well-decorated vehicle. A black walnut coffee table with a clear vase brimming with red roses sat in front of the wall to wall leather sofa. A few magazines were scattered around the coffee table. From where she was standing, she could just make out her image on those glossy covers. She could just see, down the narrow hallway, a large bed peeking out from behind a half-open door. A shiny, turquoise Keurig sat on the counter next to a collection of K-cups and coffee mugs.

"Your script's on the coffee table, Kerry. Do you need anything else before I go?" Olivia slowly shook her head, watching as the woman exited the RV and shut the door behind her. A script? Frowning, Olivia decided that was her closest thing to a lead. Edging toward the sofa, she grabbed the thick pile of papers laying on top of the magazines.

"Scandal? What the hell?" she wondered aloud, settling into the supple leather of the sofa and flipping to the first page of the script in her hands. She furrowed her brows as she read over the first page. Abby was Fitz's Press Secretary? Olivia shook her head - that was absurd. Abby would never leave her. Flipping to the front of the script, she read the text under the show's name:

"Season Five?" A light rapping on the RV door drew her attention away from the script. Laying the thick bundle back on top of the magazines, she stood from the sofa and padded to the stairs. Leaning over the stairs, holding onto the railing for support, she tossed the door open. Fitz stood on the other side, craning his neck to look at her. He entered before she could bid him to, shutting the door behind himself, and stomped up the steps.

"What the hell is this?" he wondered.

"Some show. Scandal," Olivia gestured toward the script on her coffee table.

"They keep calling me, 'Tony'."

"I'd like to think this is some elaborate prank, but there's something bigger going on here."

"Tell me about it. I ran into Mellie and she wanted to talk." She almost laughed at the shudder that shook his body and the disgusted look on his face. It was no secret that he wasn't a fan of the First Lady - apparently even the 'script' writers knew the President and First Lady weren't on good terms. According to what Olivia had read, Fitz and Mellie were divorced.

"You and I are all over those magazine covers," Olivia offered, gesturing toward the coffee table, "We're the 'hottest' couple on television." She used finger quotes to emphasise her point.

"This doesn't make any sense."

"It's almost like we're in some other reality."

"Is that even possible?"

"I have no clue," Olivia admitted, heading toward the mini-fridge under the counter. Part of her prayed that whatever version this was of her, was secretly a drinker. She needed some liquid courage - _something_ to help her mind make sense of what was going on. Throwing the stainless steel door open, she frowned at the sight of beer. No wine? What was wrong with 'television' her?

Pulling two glass bottles out, she opened them by holding them against the counter and slamming her hand on the caps. She wasn't about to waste time looking for a bottle opener. Fitz gratefully took the bottle from the counter, a magazine in one hand. Olivia gratefully gulped at the bitter liquid, grimacing at the taste. She would have to force herself to choke the liquid down, but she needed it. Or so she kept telling herself.

"We're quite the topic," Fitz stated, laying the magazine on the counter and chugging his beer.

" _Why_ are we here?"

"Hell if I know. You didn't make any wishes on a fortune cookie did you?" Fitz smirked, leaning against the counter.

 _Don't think about how hot he looks,_ Olivia chastised herself, drawing her attention away from the nonchalant way he leaned against the counter, his legs crossed and his blue jeans just tight enough to give her a glimpse of what she had been missing all these months. Shaking her head, she slid her eyes up his body and back to his face. She needed to cool it.

"Fortune cookie?" she raised a brow.

"Freaky Friday?"

"What?"

"You've never seen Freaky Friday?" he asked, shaking his head.

"This is like that?"

"Well, we didn't have fortune cookies and we didn't switch bodies, but in a way it is. We're suddenly somewhere else and everyone thinks we're someone we're not."

"This is weird," Olivia sighed, tilting her head back and looking up at the ceiling. Groaning, she ran her hand through her hair.

"You want weirder?" Fitz questioned, once more holding up the magazine he had been reading, "You're married and you have a kid."

"What?" Olivia whipped her hair around. She snatched the magazine from Fitz's hand, frowning at the vague reporting. "What the fuck is a Nnamdi?"

"I'm guessing your husband."

"Kerry's husband." Olivia shook her head, tossing the magazine back on the counter as if it were a dirty piece of laundry.

"I don't know - he kind of looks your type," Fitz teased, pointing at a photo of the man.

"No," she was adamant, "And he doesn't even look _interested_ in her."

"It's so weird hearing you talk about the person who looks _just like_ you as if she's someone else."

"This is giving me a headache," Olivia complained, walking away from the counter and slouching on the sofa. "Would you talk about _him_ like he's you? Oh and you're apparently married, too." She grabbed another magazine from the table, holding it up for him to see. He took the magazine from her, frowning at the photo before slowly shaking his head, tossing his curls about, and laying the magazine back down.

"She's not my type."

"Oh? How can you be so sure?" Olivia teased.

"She's not you."

"Oh no. You do _not_ get to do that."

"Do what?" At least Fitz had the decency to look confused.

"Say those things to me. We're in a different place and have no clue how to get back to _our_ whatever you want to call it. No flirting."

"Fine," he pressed his fingers to his lips and pretended to lock them before throwing away the key, "No more flirting."

* * *

"This is my home?" Olivia questioned, stepping out of the vehicle and staring up at the large mansion. Fitz followed behind, ignoring the snickers from their driver. The man had been insufferable with his double entendres from the moment Fitz had requested that he be dropped off with Olivia. Following her up the steps, he held the door open for her as she stepped inside, following closely behind.

"Hey," the two glanced to their right at the male voice, "I didn't know you were coming over tonight, Tony, or I wouldn't have put Isabelle to bed already. Sorry, man."

"I visit often?" Fitz wondered, tilting his head.

"Well, yeah," the other man looked confused as he responded.

"Right."

"Anyway," the man shook his head, "I'm headed out, Kerry. I'll see you later."

"Wait," Fitz called, stopping the man before he could exit the house, "Why do I visit often?"

Tilting his head to the side, the man looked at Kerry and asked: "Did he hit his head or something?"

"Or something," Olivia sighed, crossing her arms.

"You visit Isabelle," the man spoke slowly, looking directly at Fitz, "Your daughter. You and Kerry have couple time while I get to have couple time with my partner."

"But you're married to Kerry," Fitz stated.

"Because we all made a deal to help protect our real relationships. Seriously, Tony, what is wrong with you?"

Frowning, Fitz replied with: "I had a lot to drink before we came here."

"R-i-ght," Nnamdi rolled his eyes, "Anyway, I'm gone."

He appeared to practically flee the house, causing Olivia to giggle. "I think you scared him away."

"That's the least of my worries. We have a kid?" Fitz slowly turned around, stuffing his hands in his pockets and causing Olivia's giggles to continue. He looked like a frustrated child.

"Apparently we do."

"Well, that's a lot like our lives."

"What?"

"This me is married, too, and still in a relationship with you. It's nice to know that this version of me has good taste, too," Fitz winked.

"You promised no more flirting." Olivia placed her hands on her hips, sighing in frustration.

"Do I really have to at this point? Obviously this version of you must like it."

"For the love of…Down boy!" Fitz chuckled causing Olivia to narrow her eyes. "Seriously. We need to figure this shit out."

"Why? It seems like we have things figured out a little better here."

"Really? Because it looks like you're married, I'm married, and we have a kid together. While also still keeping our relationship a secret."

"Well when you put it that way," Fitz shrugged.

"Come on, we have some digging around to do." Olivia dropped her arms, wrapping her hand around Fitz's forearm and dragging him down the hall in search of a computer. They needed to brush up on everything they possibly can about who they were. Finding a way back would have to come later.


End file.
